


Front Flip

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [20]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Communication, Dares Gone Wrong, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Healthy Communication is vital for healthy relationships ok, M/M, Male!WoL - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Miqo'te!WoL - Freeform, Post-Stormblood, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: “I don’t care if the Fury Herself descends from the Heavens to dare you, you will tell Her no.”Or;WoL breaks his face trying to fulfil a drunken dare. Aymeric is... annoyed (and takes names).





	1. Chapter 1

“This is going to go horribly wrong.”

“Yup,” Bremaut said, popping the ‘p’ as he stared up at where a heavily drunken Warrior of Light was balancing precariously on the Forgotten Knight’s stairwell bannister. At this time of night, the tavern was filled to the brim with off-duty knights, all of whom who were just as, if not more so, inebriated than Ser Aza. Bremaut was one of the unlucky few saddled with ‘duty of care’ – when midnight fell, he would have to help Gribillont chase out the unruly knights and drag home any too drunk to get back to their bunks. He had to stay stone-cold sober too, which, alright, meant he collected a large amount of blackmail material but...

Well, at least he wasn’t alone. Imette, a fellow knight also saddled with duty of care, peered up at Ser Aza with an expression of deep apprehension.

“Shouldn’t we try to stop him?” she asked, glancing around them. Everyone in the tavern was crowded at the bottom of the stairs, staring with hungry, drunken anticipation for the show. Gribillont just looked tired, rubbing a glass down as he ignored the spectacle unfolding in his tavern. Bremaut felt for him, the amount of shit he must have seen and endured with someone like Ser Aza knocking about his tavern.

“You can try if you want,” Bremaut said carelessly, already resigned to the clusterfuck in the making, “I doubt he’d listen though.”

“C’mon, Nid- Nid-dog shlayer!” One of the more drunken knights yelled up at Ser Aza, “Let’s shee th’flips then!”

“Hold on, I gotta- fuckin’, I’m preparin’!” Ser Aza yelled back, his words heavily slurred as he listed dangerously to one side. With a flick of his tail though, he regained his balance and he squinted down at his target below. A table, with one leg shorter than the other and prone to tipping over if jostled too badly. For a sober person, it would be a tricky target to land perfectly on anyways – but with Ser Aza so drunk he almost hit himself in the face when trying to take a swig of his bottle? Impossible.

The crowd jeered at Ser Aza’s perceived hesitation – honestly, Bremaut suspected Ser Aza could barely _see_ where he was aiming for, judging by how he was squinting – and that seemingly bolstered the swaying Miqo’te to newer heights of stupidity.

“Fuck ny’all! I can do it! Watch this! Three flips!”

And. He jumped.

Despite his attempts to be detached from the whole thing, Bremaut sucked in a sharp breath as Imette gasped in horror next to him. They watched in breathless amazement as the Miqo’te leapt right off the bannister in a surprisingly elegant move, tucked his knees in close and did one flip, then two, and…

_‘THWMPHT!’_

Everyone flinched as one when Ser Aza did not _quite_ make the final flip, and essentially _smashed_ into the table with a solid, meaty _‘thud’_. The whole thing teetered over to one side and with a yelp and crash, Miqo’te and table spilled onto the floor in with a loud, clattering _‘bang’_. Instantly the crowd roared with laughter, but Bremaut hurried forwards with Imette in tow, genuinely concerned. Bremaut had worked with Dragoons enough to recognise a bad fall when he saw one, and that had been a _very bad one_.

“Ser Aza! Are you alright?” Imette asked when they reached Ser Aza’s messily sprawled form. A dazed groan was her reply, “Oh, Halone help me… let’s get you off your face.”

For a brief moment, Bremaut thought that perhaps everything was fine. The Warrior of Light would get up, brush himself off, and then continue the night on as business as usual. That hope died a swift death when Imette heaved the Miqo’te up into a sitting position and revealed… oh dear…

“Ugh, son’da bid’thch…” Ser Aza hissed, a hand clasped over his face with copious amount of blood dribbling between his fingers. Bremaut didn’t need to be a Chirugeon to recognise a broken nose when he saw one, “Owwww… my faaaaace…”

“Um, that’s… uh…” Imette stared at Ser Aza, looking genuinely at loss before glancing over at him, “Bremaut?”

“Why are you looking at me? I’m not a healer,” he muttered, suddenly feeling nervous. Ser Aza looked alarmingly woozy, and not in the drunken way, with a large red mark on his forehead that told him what exactly landed first on the table. Shit, just what they needed. A concussed Warrior of Light.

“Oh shiiiiit…” one of the knights suddenly called out, “Ser Aza’s bleedin’!”

The crowd, which had been sniggering not too long ago over Ser Aza’s failure, instantly began shifting uneasily. The Miqo’te’s relationship with the Lord Commander, after all, was common knowledge – as well as the fact that Ser Aymeric was also very very _very_ unforgiving of those who ‘encouraged’ Aza’s foolish drunken behaviour. While a man with a very long fuse, he was a terrifying force to behold when truly roused to anger - and upsetting or injuring Ser Aza in any way was a clear, one-way ticket to achieving that.

“Uh, let’s- let’s go out an’ have some fresh air!”

“Y-Yeah! Fresh air! Let’s go!”

“Run away!”

Bremaut watched as the knights cleared the bar in record time, leaving only the regular patrons who were too jaded to the world to even bat an eye at the Warrior of Light bleeding all over Gribillont’s floor. Bremaut sorely wished he could join them.

“Ser Aza, how many fingers am I holding up?” Imette asked nervously, holding up two fingers before the Miqo’te.

“Uhhh…” Ser Aza blinked groggily, his gaze unfocused, “Wha?”

“He’s not even sober enough to count,” Gribillont’s voice suddenly piped up, much closer than before, and Bremaut almost jumped out of his skin. He turned to see the bartender standing there with a clean rag in hand, looking exasperated, “Thanks for chasing out my customers, Aza.”

Ser Aza squinted up at Gribillont like he was a particularly bright, blazing sun, “Y’wha?”

Gribillont just rolled his eyes, tossing the rag down on top of Ser Aza’s head, “Use that to stop bleeding all over my floor.”

As Aza clumsily wrestled with the rag – with Imette’s help – Bremaut suddenly had a moment of horrified clarity. As the only person here not occupied, it would mean he would be the one to report this incident. The moment he stepped into the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly with the words ‘Ser Aza was injured’ coming out of his mouth, the Lord Commander would no doubt swoop down on him with all the vengeful wrath of a dragon with a mouthful of fire. Bremaut felt a little faint at the thought.

“It… doesn’t look that bad, past the blood,” Imette was saying hesitantly, “A little bruised, maybe?”

“Can’db really breadb drew i’dho,” Aza slurred thickly, his nasally voice only confirming the worst. Bremaut forced himself to look, to really take stock of what injuries he was reporting – and winced despite himself. There was a lot of blood, even after Imette’s careful clean up, with Ser Aza’s nose swollen and clearly broken – bruising was beginning to darken around his eyes as well, as was the red mark on his forehead. His pupils, already that bizarre, eerie slit shape, were constricted so tightly they were very thin strips of black. Bremaut wasn’t an expert on Miqo’te physiology, but considering the lighting was very low in the tavern, that probably wasn’t good.

“Nothing a little White Magic won’t cure,” Imette said with forced optimism, “Or, or a potion! Ser Gribillont, do you-?”

“Oh, no no no,” Gribillont instantly shook his head, “Potions and alcohol do not react well together. Vomit is the last thing we want to add to this situation.”

Gross, Bremaut thought, wrinkling his nose.

“Hey, Knight Bremaut, right?” Gribillont glanced at him, “You should grab Ser Aymeric. He’ll be able to whisk him away to a Chirugeon.”

“Ah, yes, of course…” Bremaut said unenthusiastically. Casting one last look over the Warrior of Light, he heaved a sigh and turned away, clomping up the stairs. Why did this have to happen when _he_ was on duty? Stupid Pennix for suggesting this stupid backflipping dare. Bloody bastard of a Duskwight. He was going to stitch him up for this.

 

* * *

 

Aymeric stifled a yawn behind his hand as he determinedly tried to finish off the last stack of patrol reports before he retired for the night. He was _exhausted_ , and grumpy, to be honest, having to contend with a stubborn House of Lords for the majority of the day. The session had overrun, because the ‘Adventurer Guild Discourse’ had sparked a four-hour long debate that rehashed old ground over and over until Aymeric felt like smashing his head against a brick wall would have been more productive – which in turn meant he was late to work _here_ , to finish his review of these reports in time for tomorrow morning. He wouldn’t be able to crawl into bed until sometime around midnight at this rate, just in time to sleep for five hours – provided Aza wasn’t too rambunctious when returning from his night out at the Forgotten Knight.

 _If_ he returned. He was prone to simply passing out underneath a table when getting too drunk, though Aza had promised to exercise restraint tonight…

He jolted out of his internal grumblings at a tentative knock on his office door. He straightened up from his tired slouch just as the door opened, frowning when Knight Bremaut peeked inside nervously. He was on Duty of Care, which meant... oh, joy.

“Who has broken what?” Aymeric asked flatly, too irritated to bother with pleasantries.

“Ah, Lord Commander, sir,” Knight Bremaut muttered, still half-behind the door like it was his sole shield between himself and a lunging dragon, “There’s been an… incident at the Forgotten Knight that requires a Chirugeon.”

Aymeric sighed. A bar brawl? “Who are the Knights involved and how bad the injury?” he asked, already readying a spare piece of parchment to jot down the names to discipline in the morning. He’ll give them to Lucia-

“The- uh. It’s Ser Aza, sir. The Warrior of Light, in need of a Chirugeon, sir, for a, for a broken nose and concussion, sir,” Knight Bremaut said, his voice growing quieter and quieter with each word he said.

Aymeric paused. Tilted his head. Looked up at Knight Bremaut, “…pardon?”

“Ser Aza,” Knight Bremaut mumbled, “A, um, group of knights and himself got a little too drunk and, uh, a knight encouraged him to try a backflip off the top of the stairs, but he didn’t quite make it an-”

“Which knight.”

Knight Bremaut was practically hidden entire by the door at this point, “I’m not su-”

“Which. Knight.”

“Knight Pennix, sir!” The door yelped at him, “It was his idea!”

Aymeric wrote ‘ _Knight Pennix’_ in a sharp, angry scrawl before rising from his seat. “Where did you leave him?”

“At the tavern, sir!”

“Go get the Chirugeon on call,” Aymeric said, his tone perfectly mild as he made his way around the desk towards the door. At hearing his footsteps, Knight Bremaut threw the door open for him and raced away before Aymeric could say anymore. Hm.

Anger settled like a cold stone in his belly as he walked out of his office and through the main hall of the Congregation. Several knights on the night shift took one look at his expression and instantly looked away, moving out of his direct path. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, _especially_ after Aza promised- no, he’ll remain calm. No need to make this a public spectacle.  

It didn’t take long to walk the short distance from the Congregation to the tavern. The smell of cheap ale hit him the moment he opened the door, and he stepped in and looked down, over the banister, to see Knight Imette leaning over Aza who was sitting on the floor, an upturned table beside them. Gribillont was nowhere to be seen, but considering the man was more than used to Aza’s escapades, had properly made sure he was fine and not going to die within the next five minutes before turning to his duties.

Aymeric took a calming breath before making his way down the steps. Knight Imette looked up, her hopeful expression instantly crumpling into nervousness.

“L-Lord Commander!” she barked, straightening up into a salute, “Has Knight Bremaut told-”

“Yes,” he said, coming to a stop before the two of them. Aza, with a bloodied rag pressed up against his nose, squinted up at him groggily. He already had two impressive black eyes, and a smattering of bruising over his cheek that, presumably, went over his nose.

“Um,” Aza began, horrified realisation dawning on him.

“What did you promise me earlier?” Aymeric asked him quietly, ignoring Knight Imette standing at an awkward attention between them, “Or are you too drunk to remember that right now?”

“Um, I remember…” Aza mumbled meekly, his ears flattening back against his skull as he looked like he desperately wished he could phase through the solid hardwood flooring.

“Then _why_ did I have a knight come to my office at-” he paused to check the Chromometer hanging on the wall, “-at eleven o’clock at _night_ , to tell me you were _backflipping_ off the stairs on a drunken dare and ended up injuring yourself?”

“Fron’ flip,” Aza corrected sullenly, then winced, obviously regretting the words the moment they left his mouth.

“ _I don’t care what flip it was_ ,” Aymeric ground out, his anger spiking before he forced it down with a deep breath. There was a lot more he wanted to say, but he swallowed it down for a more private moment and turned to Knight Imette instead; “Knight Imette, tell me in detail what happened.”

“Yes, sir!” she yelped, standing firmly at attention as if before drill sergeant, staring up at the ceiling as she reported; “Knight Pennix dared Ser Aza to do a flip off the banister onto the table. Ser Aza initially refused, but he and several knights goaded him over the course of an hour until he eventually agreed, sir!”

“Who were the other knights?” Aymeric asked.

“I-I’m not, I don’t quite recall, sir,” Knight Imette said uncertainly, her gaze wavering from the ceiling to the floor instead.

His gaze slid from Knight Imette to Aza. His partner had pulled the bloodied rag away from his face to check if he was still bleeding – he wasn’t, though smears of blood stained his mouth and chin, his nose horrifically bruised, swollen and slightly crooked. It may be the concussion and alcohol, but Aza didn’t seem all that bothered or pained as he carefully prodded his nose with bloodied fingers.

“Leave that alone,” Aymeric told him, leaning down and snagging his partner’s hands. They were tacky with drying blood, and after a brief moment of hesitation knelt down completely to better inspect Aza’s face, gently grasping his chin to tilt his head from side to side. His partner let out a small grunt of pain when he turned his head to the left, his ear giving an agitated flick, and Aymeric let out a soft tut.

“You idiot,” he muttered quietly, his irritation cooling into something closer to fond exasperation. Oh, Aza wasn’t off the hook, but he felt that he was suffering enough from his idiocy right now, “We are going to have a talk once you sober up, but for now… Knight Imette, go and trouble Ser Gribillont for some water and a fresh rag.”

“Yessir!” Knight Imette barked, practically leaping to obey his commands with the eagerness of someone desperate to escape an awkward moment.

“Let’s get you somewhat presentable for the Chirugeon,” he sighed. Knight Bremout must have ousted the grumpy medic out of his bunk by now – subjecting Aza to his tender mercies would be a punishment all on its own. “You look like a murder victim.”

“…m’sorry,” Aza mumbled quietly. He was the perfect picture of absolute contrition, his gaze lowered to the floor and his ears drooping. Something in Aymeric softened at the sight, though he carefully didn’t show it.

“It’s… not fine, exactly, but we will talk about it later,” Aymeric said with equal quietness, aware that there were still people in the tavern, even if it was the few handful that got themselves too drunk to recognise reality. He plucked up the rag that Aza had abandoned on his thigh, carefully finding the last clean patch to gently dab away some of the blood off of his partner’s face. It was tacky and half dried, so he didn’t achieve much, but it made Aza look a little better.

“You’re angry,” Aza continued.

“I am,” Aymeric confirmed, “But right now you’re drunk and concussed and upset, so we’ll wait until you’re in a better state before we argue.”

Aza made a low noise in the back of his throat – arguments were something he tried to avoid like the plague, but, honestly, sometimes they were a good way to air out tensions before they reached a breaking point, and this was definitely something that needed airing out. Aza was always irresponsible with drink, but he had promised to try and be better and not even a few hours after making that promise, he breaks it. It would’ve been better if he hadn’t promised anything at all, Aymeric thought with considerable annoyance.

“Don’t think about dodging it either,” Aymeric warned, “We are going to talk about this like adults – and you are going to promise me not to backflip-”

“Fron’ flip.”

“- _whatever-flip_ off of banisters again while drunk,” Aymeric finished firmly, “I don’t care if the Fury Herself descends from the Heavens to dare you, you will tell Her no.”

“Isn’db dat blasphemy?”

“I doubt She minds,” Aymeric said shortly, “Now, let’s get you off the floor.”

It took a bit of manhandling, but he managed to haul Aza off the floor and onto a chair, just as Knight Imette returned with a glass of water and a slightly damp flannel. Aymeric made a mental note to thank Gribillont later, and perhaps give him compensation for the table that was still lying sadly on its side, one table leg snapped in half.

“Here you are, sir,” Knight Imette said, thrusting both items out at him.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting both and passed the glass to Aza, “Drink this. Small sips. Knight Imette, see how Knight Bremaut is getting on with ousting the medic out of the bunk.”

“Yessir!”

“Don’db need a medic,” Aza grumbled. His words were coming out a little clearer now, but the nasal tone still slurred his speech, “I can straigh’en dis myself.”

“Please don’t,” Aymeric said, already envisioning how a drunken attempt to self-correct a broken nose can go horribly wrong. He fought off a shudder. “Hold still a moment.”

Aza obeyed, the glass tilting dangerously to one side in his loose grip as he tilted his head up to the gentle touch of wet cloth. Aymeric tried to be careful, wiping the dried blood off, but he occasionally bumped and pressed against bruising and broken cartilage, though Aza endured what must’ve been excruciating pain with only the barest of flinches. He kept forgetting how terrifyingly high Aza’s pain tolerance was.

The bruising around his heavy-lidded eyes gave him a drained look, his pupils dilated enough that they looked almost round. They only did that when he was exhausted.

“Don’t doze,” Aymeric warned, leaning away once he finished wiping off the last of the blood. Aza just blinked slowly at him, listing to the side slightly – Aymeric gripped his shoulder, keeping him upright. “Aza.”

“Mmm, yeah,” his partner muttered, giving himself a tiny shake and determinedly lifting his almost-forgotten glass of water to take a sip. Aymeric watched him carefully, making sure he was fine, before letting go of his shoulder.

It was then that the door to the tavern banged open, accompanied by the aggravated, rough grumblings of the on-call medic: Allert.

“-nose better be broken, to get me up at midnight,” Allert was huffing, clomping down the stairs. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed, his Chirugeon uniform sloppily thrown on and his hair a messy, dark mane that stuck up in odd angles. Allert was practically a force of nature and was one of the few medics who could pin Estinien down long enough to aggressively treat him with minimal fuss. Even Aymeric was reluctant to openly disobey him.

Trailing behind the grizzled medic were Knights Imette and Bremaut, both looking like chastised Chocobo chicks, huddling together as if for protection.

“Medic,” Aymeric greeted, unable to keep the exhaustion out of his tone. Right, it _was_ almost midnight, and he still had work to finish too. Sigh. “Apologies for the late hour.”

“Lord Commander,” Allert returned gruffly, his eyes landing on Aza practically half-asleep in his chair, “And bane of my bloody existence.”

Aza just squinted at Allert, looking utterly miserable, “Oh, Gods, it’s _you_.”

Hm? Aymeric was unaware Allert and Aza knew each other. Well then, it saved him having to do introductions, “I leave him to your tender mercies. I need to return to the Congregation, so if you could…?”

Allert just waved him off in a shocking display of casualness – Aymeric didn’t care, far too used to his lack of respect for authority at this point, “I’ll take care of your man. I’ll drag ‘im to the infirmary too, so he stops causin’ mischief here.”

“Aymeric, please don’db leave me alone wi’d ‘im,” Aza groaned.

Aymeric turned to his partner. Smiled at him, “Behave for the nice medic, Aza. I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

Aza’s expression could only be described as ‘dead inside’, “I’m never sleepin’ wid you again.”

Like Aymeric never heard _that_ threat before. He just let his smile curve into a smirk, briefly, to taunt his partner (petty, yes, but let him get his licks in while he could) before turning away to the two knights, “You’re both dismissed. Thank you for your services.”

“Sir!” the pair of them chorused – and practically fled from the tavern like Nidhogg himself was on their heels. He didn’t blame them, personally.

“Medic,” he added, giving Allert a respectful nod before walking away. Aza made a pitiful whining noise as he did, but Aymeric resolutely did not look back. Allert, despite his gruff bedside manner, was an exemplary medic and would have his partner pretty much good as new by morning – at the price of a few knocks to his pride.

Now, time to… return to his work. Fury give him strength…


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not-” Aza began unsteadily before he stopped and continued in a firmer tone; “I’m not self-destructive.”
> 
> Or;
> 
> The aftermath of WoL's stupid stunt brings to light some things that they really needed to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: MENTIONS OF UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, BEING IN BAD MENTAL SPACES AND IMPLICATIONS OF PAST TRAUMATIC EXPERIENCES. THIS TALK IS VERY HEAVY ON MENTAL HEALTH.

Aza woke up and instantly felt Regret.

He kept his eyes shut, breathing through the horrendous throbbing pain stabbing through his head. It was sharper than a mere hangover, and he very slowly rolled onto his back, hand coming up to press against his forehead as he carefully squinted his eyes open.

An unfamiliar ceiling greeted him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, closing his eyes again and bracing himself before he lurched up into a sitting position. The pounding grew worse, and he cradled his head in his hands as he slowly picked apart the pain signals. Hangover headache and… pain from injury? Gods, his nose hurt like fuck, and his _neck_. What did he do, break down a door with his _face_?

“Ah, he’s finally returned to th’ land of th’ livin’.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aza knew that voice, that awful, awful, _awful_ voice, and lifted his head up to squint blearily at the fuzzy image of _him_. Allert. His mortal enemy. “Why’re you here?”

“’Cause this is _my_ infirmary,” Allert said cheerily, a terrifying tone to hear from a man who looked like he ate metal shards for breakfast. He was grinning at him, hands tucked into the pockets of his Chirugeon apron, “Which I had to drag yer ass to last night, ‘cause you broke yer face. Lord Commander was a bit pissed off.”

Well, that explained why he felt like he’d been kicked in the face by a Chocobo, “Aymeric was… wait, what did I do?”

“If yer askin’ that, then ya know,” Allert told him, his grin widening, “Somethin’ about not exercisin’ restraint when you promised to?”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Fucking _fuck_.

“ ** _Fuck_** ,” Aza groaned, hiding his face in his hands again, “Why did I… _fuck_. He must be so _mad_.”

“Spittin’ fire, almost,” Allert confirmed, “You missed ‘im tearing the knights who were with you last night new arseholes. Put the fear of Halone into that merry band of idiots.”

Oh, that was bad. An awful feeling twisted low in his stomach, making him feel queasy. Nerves, he realised after a horrified moment, that terrible knowledge that something bad was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs, trying to beat down the cowardly urge to slip out and run to the stables before Aymeric collared him. Dodging it would just make it infinitely worse.

“Has he…” He coughed, clearing his throat, “Has he calmed down a little?”

The look Allert gave him could almost be called pitying, “Define ‘calm’.”

Urk.

Aza stared at the far wall for a long moment, prodding at his fuzzy memory as if he could unearth something that could shed some hope in this miserable situation. All he remembered was going to the Forgotten Knight for some catch up drinks with Sid and Rielle. They left early, just before the off-duty knights piled in, but Aza hadn’t been ready to leave yet since Aymeric had still been at work and he’d been feeling kind of down, so he drank a little more, just a _little_ …

But apparently not, because his memory was mess not long after that.

“I’ll help ya out,” Allert said after the silence dragged awkwardly, “You front-flipped off the stairs and smashed yer face into a table on a dare.”

Aza had… no recollection of that, at all, but it seemed fairly standard of his nights out. “That seems a little… tame?”

“Tame, he says,” Allert scoffed, “Y’really don’t get it, do ya?”

“I broke my promise,” Aza said with a frown, because he remembered _that_. Aymeric had asked him not to go too overboard and Aza just completely ran roughshod over it. He’d be pretty pissed too – actually, he _was_ pissed off. Why was he such an idiot? A fucking moron of the highest calibre? He hated himself there and then.  

“S’not just that,” Allert rolled his eyes, like he was the biggest idiot alive, “But I ain’t a fuckin’ love guru, so I’ll let you muddle through. Now, go on, get.”

Aza made an offended noise when the medic proceeded to shoo him off the bed. He scrambled to his feet, wincing when his head gave a painful throb from the abrupt movement, and squinted an irritated look at his _mortal enemy_ , “You’re a shitty medic. You and Crisp deserve each other.”

“An’ yer a fuckin’ menace. Now go get yer well-deserved tongue lashin’ off the Lord Commander.”

Aza flicked his tail dismissively, sticking his nose in the air as he stalked away from the gruff medic. The imperious attitude lasted as long as he left the infirmary, where he paused to lean against the wall to cradle his pounding head. Ugh, Gods, this headache was _awful_. How was he going to endure an argument when he felt like he had tiny Titans smashing the inside of his skull?

Experimentally he poked his nose. A dull ache flared – bruising – but nothing sharp. So, lingering effects of hangover and concussion.

“I better get it over and done with,” he muttered to himself, forcing himself upright. He could do with a shower, though, and maybe something to eat, but the moment he allowed himself to procrastinate, he’d just put it off and put it off until Aymeric hunted him down in an even more incensed mood. No, best to rip the bandage right off – and, perhaps, his pathetically rumpled appearance would soften his partner up.

He was a little unfamiliar with these parts of the Congregation, and a few of the knights mingling in the hallways gave him a wide berth, whispering behind their hands as he passed. It meant he couldn’t really ask for directions, not that he felt inclined to, so it took about ten minutes before he found himself in familiar grounds and able to head towards Aymeric’s office. Each step felt heavier the closer he got.

C’mon. He faced down Primals on a near weekly business. He could face down Aymeric for a… a constructive conversation. Easy.

When Aza finally reached his partner’s office, the knight standing guard gave him a look of open pity. He throttled the urge to smack it off his face.

“He told me to let you straight in when you came, Ser Aza,” the knight said, standing aside to allow him through.

“Thanks,” Aza said dully, not sparing him a look as he shouldered the door open without knocking. He closed it firmly behind him, even though he knew that guard was probably going to stand there with his ear plastered against it, bunch of gossiping hens that the Temple Knights were. He fully expected all the dirty details of this argument being common knowledge by the end of the day.

Aymeric was sitting at his desk, paperwork piled high around him, and at hearing the door close shut he glanced up. He looked _terrible_ , Aza realised with a guilty lurch, with dark, exhausted lines under his eyes and looking a little worn around the edges. He didn’t seem all that happy either.

“Hm, you didn’t run away then,” Aymeric said, his voice husky from fatigue. He set his pen down, leaning back in his seat in a near-slouch. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his gaze flat as he looked Aza up and down slowly, taking in his equally dishevelled appearance. “Did you just roll out of bed?”

“Did you go to bed at all?” Aza returned, keeping his distance. Normally he’d perch on the desk just next to Aymeric but… he felt uncomfortable, awkward, and very unsure what the boundary lines were right now. He stayed standing in front of the desk, the furniture feeling like a barrier. He didn’t like it.

“I took a power nap,” Aymeric replied, which meant that no, he didn’t. Bad sign. He got into a right shitty mood when he pulled all-nighters, “How are your injuries?”

“Fine,” Aza lied, determinedly ignoring the stabbing in his skull. The air carried a tension which made him jittery and he fought the urge to fidget by crossing his arms tight over his chest, anxiously drumming his fingers over his bicep. “Good as new, basically.”

His partner just gave him a long, flat stare, “Please don’t lie to me right now. I’m not in the mood.”

Aza winced, dropping his gaze to the floor, “I’m-” he paused, then heaved a sigh, “I’ve had worse,” he amended, “Just a headache.”

“’Just’ a headache,” Aymeric muttered, sounding irritated about something, “You hurt yourself quite badly.”

“ _Badl_ \- it was a broken nose and a concussion,” Aza said incredulously, looking back at him. That was _nothing_ compared to what Aymeric had seen him endure before, “It’s not like the time where I fell on my own knife like an idiot and almost bled out everywhere.”

“You could have broken your neck,” Aymeric snapped, his sharp tone bringing Aza up short, “Don’t you understand that? I don’t care that your injuries were ‘ _mild’_ , the fact remains that you had such little consideration for your own safe-”

“It was a _stupid_ stunt but not a fatal one!” Aza interrupted, his disbelief quickly giving way to indignation. What, did Aymeric think he was some decrepit kitten needing to be coddled? Aza was an _adventurer_. Him and danger went hand in hand, and Aymeric was getting worked up about a little drunken mishap? He thought he was pissed off about the broken promise, not _this_. “And nothing went wrong anyways. Well, I mean, nothing went _badly_ wrong, so why are you even upset?”

Aymeric looked like he was about to say something – but he snapped his mouth shut, closing his eyes as he took in a deep, calming breath. “I’m _upset_ ,” he began with forced mildness, “Because I’m getting frustrated with your reckless behaviour despite you insisting that you have it under control. There comes a time when your impulsive decisions become self-destructive and it _worries me_.”

Those words sounded rehearsed, like Aymeric thought a lot on what to say. Aza felt his heart beat faster as the implications of that sunk in. This was something his partner had been sitting on for a while.

“I’m not-” Aza began unsteadily before he stopped and continued in a firmer tone; “I’m not self-destructive.”

“Falcon’s Nest,” Aymeric said in an abrupt tone, “The dragon that almost killed you, do you remember?”

“Yes…” Aza said warily, sensing a trap but not quite seeing it.

“You were incapacitated near the end of the battle, and what did you do?” Aymeric didn’t wait for a response, talking over Aza’s attempt of a reply, “You used dangerous magics to force your body beyond its limits, to finish a fight that your allies were doing well enough on their own. It was an _unnecessary_ risk that almost _killed you_ – and that wasn’t the only time you’ve done that.”

Aza didn’t try to speak this time. His heart felt like it was trying to crawl into his throat.

“Countless times, you’ve-” Aymeric broke off, leaning forwards on his elbows, fingers lacing together as he hid the lower half of his face behind them. For a moment it seemed like he was struggling with his composure, but he mastered it after a short, deep breath; “I’m aware, with how things are, that there may come a day where one of us might die in the line of duty but-”

“You won’t,” Aza rushed to say, an awful, swooping feeling of dread hitting him low in the stomach at the mere _thought_. His mind wouldn’t even entertain the possibility of it, “I’ll keep you safe-”

“You can’t keep me safe, Aza,” Aymeric cut him off, his tone firm but weary, “I don’t _want_ you to keep me safe at the cost of yourself.”

Aza didn’t like where this conversation was heading at all. There was an unsettling pressure clenching his throat, making it difficult to speak, and he flexed his fingers into his biceps, unheeding of the sharp bite of pain from his fingernails digging into his skin, “But, I…”

“Aza,” Aymeric straightened up, running a hand over his weary face, “I love you,” he said with utmost seriousness, “But I can see you have a problem. Not just with the drinking, but with the way you view your own life as worth less than others. It _frustrates_ me to see you carelessly throwing your life around.”

Because his life was worth less than others’, Aza thought blankly. Because without everyone else, he wouldn’t be the Warrior of Light, Aza Lynel, he’d be back to the _thing_ he was before, that empty, cold shell of a man who only found worth in the enemies he fought. Like Zenos. No, he refused to go back to that, so he had to make sure to keep everyone _else_ alive and well and happy. If they stayed like that, then it was fine. Whatever happened to him was fine. A dead Warrior of Light was preferable to him being alive and alone.

He knew better than to say any of this, though. He knew… no, Aymeric already knew enough, when Aza woke up in the middle of the night trembling from the nightmarish what ifs of him failing, of them dying, of Haurchefant leaping to protect his exposed back because of his own _stupidity_ , of Zenos looming over him, purring ‘ _we’re the same you and I’_ of small hands covered in blood because he’d been too young and weak to- no.

“I can’t lose any of you,” he blurted out without thinking, his mind still half-trapped on those dark thoughts churning in the back of his mind, like a dirty pond with its sediment disturbed and swirling. “I won’t.”

Aymeric was looking at him carefully, concern clear in his tired gaze, “Aza-”

“No,” The pressure was almost strangling now, and he felt almost like an invisible vice was squeezing around his ribs the more he thought about it. He hated it when these thoughts latched in. He needed to get them out. Stop _thinking_ about it, _stop it_ , “Everyone’s going to survive and I’ll keep you all safe, right to the end, even if I need to throw myself on countless swords to achieve it. I will. _I will_.”

 _You’re afraid you’re going to fuck it up,_ Fray’s voice rose up – he couldn’t tell if it was a memory or being spoken now. _You probably will, but so what?_

Aymeric didn’t say anything. He was watching him carefully, while Aza struggled to breathe past the gnawing panic in his ribcage.

He desperately wanted a drink.

After a tense pause, Aymeric slowly stood up from his seat. He moved cautiously, like Aza was some unpredictable, cornered animal liable to spook at any sudden movements, skirting around the edge of his desk until he stood before it, removing it as a barrier. He didn’t approach though, remaining out of arm’s reach which- was good because Aza felt – out of sorts. He didn’t want him in his personal space right now.

“I can’t promise you that nothing will happen to me,” Aymeric told him, “Because I won’t be able to keep it. You know that, don’t you?”

“I won’t let anything happen,” Aza said roughly.

“There are some things that will be out of your control,” Aymeric leaned back against the desk, hands pressing against its edge as he bowed his head with a sigh, “No matter how much you drink to forget that fact, won’t make it any less true.”

He’ll _make_ it true, Aza thought savagely, even if he had to squeeze every last drop of aether out of his body to achieve it.

Aymeric lifted his head, his mouth set in a firm line, “I’ve said this before, but, you know I won’t judge you?”

Aza took several heartbeats to reply, “…yes, I know.”

“I won’t judge you for this, either,” Aymeric continued, “I don’t approve of it, but I understand it. I want…” he faltered, and for a brief moment he looked a little out of his depth, like there was a problem before him that he recognised but lacked the tools to fix, “I want you to promise me, that whenever you feel things are so bad you need to drink to help you, that you speak to someone first.”

“But you’re always busy,” Aza said quietly, “I can’t-”

“I will try to make time, no matter what,” Aymeric said firmly, stubbornly, though he sighed in defeat a moment later, “But, of course, I’m limited here so… just speak to someone. Your adventurer friends or… someone.”

Crisp and Bluebird would perhaps be understanding – they had witnessed more than a few of Aza’s spectacular meltdowns even if they dealt with the problem by taking him out to kill some monsters or run up and down a mountain to burn him out. But otherwise… this was something he didn’t show to others. It was bad enough that Aymeric sort of knew he was fucking _crazy_ but, the other Scions… no, he needed to be strong for them.

“I’ll… try,” he said, evading an outright promise.

“Promise me,” Aymeric said sharply, “I won’t fall for that.”

Damn it. “Okay, I… I promise,” he forced out, “I promise I’ll speak to someone when I feel… upset.”

It sounded pathetic when said aloud like that. He dropped his gaze, grimacing to himself. He felt oddly shaky, and he kept a tight grip on his biceps to hide the tremor in his hands. Just the headache, hangover, whatever – he was fine. Just… he ruthlessly battered down the dark thoughts in his brain, crushing it into a corner until he could breathe easier. He _will_ be fine.

“Thank you,” Aymeric murmured. He sounded a little sad, which made Aza’s stomach turn guiltily. He hadn’t intended to make things so difficult – he was ruining things here, with his- okay, no, it’s fine. He’ll definitely keep his promise this time, even if he had to bribe Gribillont and Crisp and Bluebird to cut him off or dropkick him in the head the moment he tried to get blind-stinking drunk, bad thoughts or no.

“I’m sorry,” Aza said to his feet. He felt lower than the stone floor he was standing on, “For causing you trouble.”

“You haven’t-” Aymeric stopped, making a small noise in the back of his throat. It sounded frustrated, “Don’t apologise for that.”

Aza carefully said nothing, worried about saying the wrong thing.

Aymeric was quiet too, and the silence between them lapsed… not uncomfortably, but there was a tension between them, lingering like a taut carbonwire. Aza stared at his feet, practically hugging himself, while Aymeric… finally sighed.

“I’ll be speaking to Gribillont,” he said, “To enforce a limit for you. Do you agree to that?”

Considering Aza himself had planned on doing that anyways… “Yeah, I do.”

Aymeric nodded, and some of the tension eased out of him, like he’d expected to fight over that particular topic and was relieved to find it painless. He rubbed his eyes again, huffing out a short, fatigued breath, “Good. I’ll do that… later,” he pushed himself off the edge of the desk, “Now, you should-”

“Aymeric,” Aza interrupted uncertainly, and his partner paused, looking at him patiently. He really didn’t deserve this man, “Are we okay, then?”

For a moment Aymeric stared at him in open confusion before realisation dawned. He let out a sigh, managing a small, albeit tired smile, “Of course we are. We… we may have to talk about this again,” he admitted, “But, we’re fine. Just, please be more careful with yourself.”

Aza felt the knot of nervous tension relax in him. He’d worried when Aymeric had been talking that he’d been having second thoughts but… okay, good. That’s good, “Okay. Um,” he hesitated, still unsure on the boundaries – this was the heaviest and most serious discussion they’ve had yet, and he wasn’t all that well-versed in healthy relationships. Was he allowed to…? “Can we…”

Aymeric knew him well enough to know what he was asking for. Wordlessly, he held out his arms.

Relieved and feeling kind of childish about seeking such physical reassurance, he stepped in close and into his partner’s warm embrace. He pressed his face against Aymeric’s chest, even if it did make his nose ache a little, and just soaked up the affection. He was squeezed tight, and Aza felt guilt and fondness in equal measure. He really, really didn’t deserve this man, but fuck, he was selfish enough to try and keep him no matter what.

“I’m sorry,” Aza said again, voice muffled against Aymeric’s chest, “For being a fucked up idiot.”

“It’s fine,” Aymeric said – then paused, “Well, no, not fine but…”

“I get it,” Aza pulled away, and Aymeric let him go with some reluctance, “Okay. Right.” A beat, “I should shower.”

“You really should,” Aymeric said, leaning against the desk with a wry smile, “You’re a bit, hm…”

“Are you saying I’m _smelly_?” Aza asked in mock-offence, but he could feel himself starting to smile as the heavy, dark mood from earlier receded, “Aymeric, how rude.”

“You said it, not I,” Aymeric said innocently.  

Aza ran a hand through his hair, making a face when he realised it was half out of its braid. Gods, he forgot to check that before he left the infirmary. He probably looked a fright, “I feel dirty. Too much talking about emotions… I’ll…” he paused, eyeing Aymeric carefully as he said; “I’ll go to your house to shower?”

“My home is yours, you know that,” Aymeric said mildly, not reacting to Aza’s hesitance, “I’ll be home a little early today. Lucia is overtaking some of my duties here to allow me some, hm, rest.”

Right, Aymeric did look dead on his feet. Aza had no idea how he was being as coherent as he was right now, with how his partner was blinking slowly, like he was trying to snag microseconds of sleep per blink, “Alright, I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”

“Hmm…” Aymeric’s smile was warmer, “Make sure to drink some water for that headache of yours.”

“Yes, mother,” Aza mocked playfully, stepping away, “Try not to use your paperwork as a pillow, handsome.”

“No promises,” Aymeric quipped back, though he did heave himself off the edge of the desk and made his slow, reluctant way back to his seat.

Aza chuckled, feeling like the equilibrium was restored between them, and reached for the door, “Goodbye, I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye,” Aymeric said, and, because he could be a mischievous little asshole, added, “I love you.”

Aza jolted, his heart doing the little flutter it always did when his partner just dropped that on him without warning. Happiness and fear in equal measure. He shunted the fear aside, refusing to dwell on it, and murmured back, “I love you too,” before quickly opening the door and making his escape.

The knight guarding the door was looking dead ahead as Aza walked past, not budging an inch, but fuck, Aza didn’t care. The Temple Knights were going to gossip no matter what, and he knew from experience that the stories about him and Aymeric evolved and twisted until they became unrecognisable and stupid.

Now, he needed to do some difficult things – after a shower and some food of course. He’d have to tell Crisp and Bluebird to restrict his alcohol intake, even if… it was going to be difficult. It was so much easier to drink himself into a stupor to block out the bad things but… no, he was going to be better. Besides, Aymeric was right, he could have killed himself last night, and then who would be able to protect him and his friends in his absence? No, better to find a different way to sort his weakness out.

Talking to people… he wasn’t sure. But he promised to try, so he will.

He sighed. Easier said than done.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, yeah, that was a long time coming. As some people mentioned in the past chapter, and in other fics, Aza really does have an issue of self-medicating himself with drink, or using other unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with himself. The role of Dark Knight helps a bit, what with being able to literally use his negative emotions to power up and having Fray mentally smack him whenever he's being too dumb, but he still has his problems that he needs resolving. It's gonna take a while, because these things don't magically cure themselves overnight, and there'll be relapses and lots more talks and disagreements and challenging his unhealthy coping mechanisms but... he'll get there one day. 
> 
> Put in a few hints of his past before Eorzea too and it's not... Happy. At all. He has enough emotional baggage to sink Limsa Lominsa, honestly. 
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed! And thank you so much for the wonderful responses I've received on the first part of this fic! Sorry it was such a mood whiplash. I hope the argument/talk was what some of you were hoping for!

**Author's Note:**

> SO I JUST NEEDED TO GET THIS DUMB IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD and also I was interested in writing the few times Aza and Aymeric are at odds with each other. If there's appetite for the actual argument scene though, I'll be more than happy to add a second chapter to this~
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you liked! As well, a super mega massive big THANK YOU to those who've commented so far! I'm sorry I'm really bad when it comes to replying but I really appreciate it and each and every one puts a smile on my face and keeps me motivated to try writing more and more~


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